ON THE TRAIL IN THE HIGHLANDS OF THE CASCADES 80
"A SKY BLUE LAKE SET LIKE A SAPPHIRE IN AN EMERALD MOUNT" 80
"OUR TRAIL WOUND BENEATH A FAIRY FOREST" 84
From a Photograph by Kiser Photo Co., Portland, Ore.
"PACKING UP" AT A DESERTED RANGER STATION 96
USING THE FOREST FIRE TELEPHONE AT A RANGER STATION 96
CANOEING AND DUCK SHOOTING MAY BE COMBINED ON THE DESCHUTES 108
ALONG THE DESCHUTES, THE "RIVER OF FALLS." "IT ROARS AND RUSHES, IN WHITE-WATERED CASCADES" 112
Copyright 1911 By Kiser Photo Co., Portland, Ore.
"CANOEING IS THE MOST SATISFACTORY METHOD OF TRAVEL EXTANT" 118
"THE HUMES GLACIER, OVER WHICH WE WENT TO MOUNT OLYMPUS" 128
"OUR NATURE-MADE CAMP IN ELWHA BASIN" 128
From a photograph by Wells Drury, Berkeley, Cal.
LOOKING ACROSS THE CLOUDS TO MOUNT ADAMS FROM THE FLANKS OF RAINIER 156
"WE GLORIED IN THE SHEER MIGHTINESS OF EL CAPITAN" 158
"A VAST FLOWER GARDEN MAINTAINED ENTICINGLY BY DAME NATURE" 160
Copyright 1912 by Kiser Photo Co., Portland, Ore.
THE GOVERNMENT ROAD THAT LEADS TO MOUNT RAINIER 164
"What is the most pronounced difference between East and West?" A Bostonian once asked me that. I was East after a year or two of westerning, and he seemed to think it would be easy enough to answer off-hand. But for the life of me I could find no fit reply. For a time that is--and then it struck me.
"Everyone is proud of everything out West," said I. "Local patriotism is a religion--if you know what I mean."
You who have lived on the Pacific Slope will understand. You who have visited the Pacific Slope will half-understand. Did you ever hear of a New Jersey man fighting because his town was maligned? You never did! Have you yet encountered a York State small-town dweller who would devote hours to proving that his community was destined to outdistance all its neighbors because God had been especially good to it--and ready to back his boast to the limit? No indeed! Yet most of us have seen Westerners actually come to blows protecting the fair name of their chosen town, and I know scores of them who can, and will, on the slightest provocation, demonstrate that their particular Prosperity Center is the coming city of destiny.
In short every Westerner is inordinately proud of his town and his country. On trains you hear it, in hotel lobbies, on street corners. The stranger seated at your side in the smoking compartment regales you with descriptions of his particular "God's Country." If ever there was an overworked phrase west of the Missouri, it is that, and the inventor of a fitting synonym should reap royal rewards, in travelers' gratitude if nothing else. The man from Boisé describes "God's Country" in terms of sagebrush and brown plains; the Palouse dweller pictures wheat fields, mentioning not wind storms and feverish summer mercury; the Californian sees his poppy-golden hills; the eyes of the Puget Sound dweller are bright with memories of majestic timber and broad waterways, unclouded by any mention of gray rain; the man from Bend talks of rushing rivers and copper-hued pines, his enthusiasm for the homeland unalloyed by reference to summer dusts; the orchard owner of Hood River or Wen-atchee has his heaven lined with ruddy apples, and discourses amazing figures concerning ever-increasing world market for the product of his acres; he who hails from the Coast cities, whose all-pervading passion is optimism, weaves convincing prophecies of the golden future. And so it goes. Each for his own, each an enthusiast, a loyal patriot, a rabid disciple. Eastern travel acquaintances produce the latest photograph of their youngest offspring, but the Westerner brings forth views and plats of his home town; no children of his own flesh are more beloved.